Thank-you teachers!

I have had the opportunity to help out in Katie's class the past few weeks. It has been a very exhausting  and enlightening experience. I have been impressed to say the least. I cant adequately express my feelings, but I am so grateful for teachers that put their heart into their job.

To the teacher who

spends their weekends preparing, their own money for supplies and their extra time listening to parents complaints

picks up pieces of paper, pieces of food and pieces of "I'm not sure what that is" off the floor at the end of the day

comes early, stays late and misses lunch to sit in on a planning meeting

has trainings with expectations, deadlines to meet, while still having children to reach

dives in to the inner city school without a knowledge of the main language of 70% of the population

deciphers between the kid who is about to wet his pants and the kid who is just faking it

cleans up throw up, bloody noses, bloody knees, ties shoes, fixes hair, and wipes tears

jumps for joy at the beginning of the day and sighs with relief at the end

gives hugs, encouragement and guidance

pulls apart fights, pulls out their own hair and pulls off miracles

cries tears of frustration, exhaustion and gratitude all on the same day

To the teachers who are home for the night, recovering from a long week and prepping for another, 

THANK YOU! What you do is important!

From a mom who has no clue what your job is like but is so amazed at how you accomplish it and very grateful. 

Processing the messy mommy tears

I am drowning myself in a box of grasshoppers (the chocolate and mint cookies, not actual insects....) right now. My nose is plugged and I am pretty sure that as I write this, my shirt will become more soaked in tears. I might even need to wring it out.

What brought this on? Katie is going to Kindergarten. I always said I would never home school her. That I needed to be the mommy and not the teacher. And I firmly believed that. We struggled in that regard. Sitting down and trying to teach her her numbers and letters, how to read or count always seemed like pulling teeth. And then she would get it. I remember the first time she drew the letter A. I was in shock. A few weeks ago she pulled out a book and began reading it. Actually reading, not just reciting (she does great at that). Again, I was in shock. At her kindergarten assessment the other day the teacher told me that she aced it. She kept trying to convince me that they would be able to teach her and help her continue to learn. I think she was worried I'd want her moved up or something. I know she is smart, but again-shocked.

So with having wanted her to go to school so bad and knowing from praying about it that she is supposed to be in public school, why am I sobbing my heart out?

I think in a way it is connected to loosing Gracie. If we hadn't lost Gracie, I think that would still be sad about Katie going to Kindergarten. I would probably sniffle a little when dropping her off. Feel a little tug on the heart as I watch her grow up. But loosing a child changed that for me. It changes a lot of things.

At first, I didn't want to believe it would. I was adamant that she and I both needed this. When I found out that they offered full day I was ecstatic. So was Katie. (Really, it was quite funny. We both interrupted the "lets get ready for kindergarten" meeting back in April with fist pumps and excited yells when they mentioned it.) But that night something bugged me. I pushed it aside. After all, I had months before I even needed to consider it. I swear I still had a month just yesterday. But no. Yesterday marked one week til her very first day of school.

Back in June I began wavering on full day. I tried to bully my through it. Tough it out. Over-exaggerate the need for her to be gone from the house. This past week has been super rough with her. And I recognize that now as being that I am trying to push her away, to make the separation less painful. Picking up on every little thing she does wrong and trying to make her change, worried that she will be hurt or misunderstood by others.

At back to school night we learned that full day was all they would be offering. No half day option. It hit me like a bag of bricks. As much as I wanted her to go, my baby I brought home from the hospital 5 years ago will now be gone for 7 hours a day. 7!!!!!!!! It didn't hit me then. I went into momma bear mode. There was a specific teacher I wanted her to have. I made sure to request that of the very understanding principle. (I also left a note for the principle reminding her after Katie's assessment the next day- just to be sure). I walked Katie through the classrooms. We practiced walking down the hall to the bathroom. Talked about what the rules were and how to obey. Checked out the gym and cafeteria. Practiced lining up outside. And of course played on the playground.

But still I worry. Have I done everything I can to prepare her? What if I missed something? What if I did something wrong? What if someone hurts her feelings? What if she doesn't feel like she can trust me enough and wont tell me if something goes wrong? WHAT IF I WASN'T A GOOD ENOUGH MOMMY?!

I failed Gracie. My body couldn't protect her, couldn't care for her, so I had to bury her. Mommy failure to the max. I have failed Katie. I can't teach her, so I am sending her away. Also mommy failure, mommies are supposed to teach. 7 hours. I loose 7 hours a day with her because I have failed her.

I edited this a little because I sometimes think that it needs to look good. That there are things that shouldn't be talked about or written, but that's not being truthful. So being truthful: As much as I know that there was nothing I could have done for Gracie and that if there had been I would have done it in a heartbeat, sometimes I feel like I killed her. That I was the reason she died. There are a lot of reasons why I feel that way. And they will probably do better for a different post because this one is way emotional as is and I can hardly see through my tears, but this is real. I know I didn't. I know it was God's plan. But there are times when I totally feel like it was my fault. And it hurts. A lot. And so now, I feel like I haven't done everything I could have for Katie. That I lost time with her. That I wasted away time. And because of it, now I have to send her away. It's my fault. I am sending her out into a world that is admittedly pretty cruel and she will probably be hurt throughout her learning experience and it is my fault.

While I understand that these thoughts and feelings are not truth, sometimes they still need to get out. I don't know if it is the same for other angel mommies or mommies in general. Maybe it is just me. But this is the real me. The me that is sobbing her eyes out right now knowing that I only have a few more days with my kiddo before she goes to school. (I will be unavailable all day next Wednesday. My face will be getting reacquainted with a wet pillow case.) This is the me that will look back on this in 6 months and go "seriously? Girl get a grip!" The me that will probably repeat this when Kotah goes to kindergarten. It's not a pretty me. It's not composed or strong. But its truth. And another building block in my life. The imperfect, beautifully broken and healing and fully (well, trying at least) trusting in God life of Sarah.

Cookie break. And my nose needs to be blown. And speaking of Katie, she just walked in at 11:40 pm. I think I'll snuggle with her tonight instead of sending her back to bed tonight.

What 7 months looks like

I missed last month. Literally. I missed 6 months. I completely forgot. The whole day. It wasn't til my mom ( who lovingly texts me each month- who also forgot) texted me the next day that I even registered that it had been 6 months.

And honestly, I wasn't heartbroken over forgetting. I was dealing with a sick 2 year old and running on no sleep. I was living in the moment. I chose not to beat myself up over forgetting. We'd just had the headstone placed. That act was very finalizing and healing. A physical manifestation of her. A solid proof of her life. I didn't have to remind the world that she has a place in it. I didn't have to worry anymore about things going missing from her grave and that it would leave her unmarked, unimportant.

And so last month as I realized I'd forgotten, I smiled to myself, took off my broken heart necklace and placed it lovingly on her shelf. My heart is not missing a piece. It just had to break to grow, to allow a place for the HUGE piece of Gracie.

Cleaning time last week I decided to go through the things on her shelf. I know that over the months I have held onto things that are a little illogical and I figured I was ready to organize. I started with the box of grave decorations that have been accumulating. It wasn't so hard. Other than her Easter egg basket which we will continue to use, everything went. Katie and Kotah played with the broken fake flowers and dismembered windmills all day. While they did that I began going through the other two boxes. The letters, the books, the Christmas ornaments I wanted to make a lot of, but only made a few, the tiny teddy made out of scraps of blanket fabric that we used until our Gracie bear was ready. Dried flowers (I almost thought about getting rid of those, but I'm not there). The candle warmer and extra wax. Excess stickers from decorating her casket. Then the main box. The one that holds her blankets and clothes. The medical bracelets. The measuring tape showing she was 8 inches long. Her teeny tiny diaper. Her molds.

The mom that forgot 6 months was reduced to a puddle of tears. Even writing this, it is surprising the emotion that can still be evoked. I'm not sobbing, but my eyes are teary and my throat is tight. The only things I could throw away at the end of the day was the broken grave decorations. And those were the only things that needed to go.

Healing looks different to everyone. Healing doesn't mean having nothing but happy feelings for what happened. And it doesn't mean completely ok. It could be laughing in spite of pain. Trust in spite of hurt. Eating something besides EL Fudge Cookies and Orange chicken. Forgetting a milestone. Allowing the tears to come instead of pretending to be strong. Strength is in being real.

Dora Debunked

Today I woke up with a mission. I was going to weed my garden. The poor corn and squash plants were being choked out. That was all. Just pulling up the carpet of green that covered the ground meant for producing veggie plants. With only one item on my to-do list, I still had the problem of entertainment of a 5 year-old and 2 year-old with the goal of keeping the house standing while I weeded.

Enter Dora. Thank you Amazon Prime! I turned it on, handed out otter pops and left the door open while I went outside. It lasted about half an episode. Maybe even less. Out of the house came bounding an energetic 5 year old. Without any fanfare or lead-in she said "Mom, what if Swiper just wants a turn? What if they just gave him a turn? Then maybe he would stop trying to take all their stuff. If I was Dora, I would give him a turn and tell him to give my stuff back to me after his turn was over and not throw it away. He probably throws it because he wants a turn and isn't getting it."

Mind.Is.Blown. Here is bullying, wrapped in pretty colors and tied with a bow of fun music and chants. She is always smiling. Has an answer to every problem. A special backpack that is kind of like Mary Poppins carpet bag, and talking map. A best friend. (Who happens to be a monkey.) Freedom to roam a rather large area (as indicated by the numerous areas the talking map covers). All this, yet fear of loss keeps a continual cycle of run-ins with Swiper. Fear. Because of fear, an offer isn't extended to Swiper. A chance to change isn't made. Fear of loss, of change, prevents an outsider from being part of the group. And he acts out. All this handed out in an educational cartoon. And yet, it can't brainwash my kid. Take that world.

Hang in there Swiper. One day you'll be given a chance. If not by Dora, then maybe by my 5 year-old, by other children. By pure hearts that hold no hate or fear, but faith, hope and charity.

Lead on young ones, lead on.

Healing and a Headstone

Picking out Gracie's headstone design was hard. I wanted it to be perfect. After three different proofs came back and none of them was quite like I envisioned it, I sent in some art that I had done.

I asked if there was any way to put something like it on to the design. I had drawn these one day, as I sat crying. As I looked at the tears that had dripped off my face onto the table, the thought came to me "Don't you know I miss you too, Mommy?"

In a mix up of communication, as we worked over email on the design, the cemetery social worker person made a comment of having Christ bringing back the baby to the mother. It stopped me. I hadn't thought about it like that.

They placed her headstone today. When we buried Gracie, it took all my will power not to start digging at the dirt. My heart screamed silently not to let them finish. For many weeks after, that desire was still there. My grief was fresh and raw. Today, as the workers dug to put in the headstone, I was peaceful and calm. At one point, the thought did cross my mind that just a little more and they could uncover her. But it wasn't a desperate yearning. I smiled to myself and breathed deep, letting it go. We had a wonderful rainstorm today which I thought was so fitting. Laying Gracie to rest is completely done. While the pain of not having her here still comes, today I felt clean and healed to an extent.

When I drew it, it was a tearful goodbye, but as it was placed today, it is a gentle reminder of hope to me. An image of comfort, when we will be together again. 

Don't Tempt the Snake

The other day, I took a hike. I went on it with the intent to ponder. To get out into nature and listen. It was a very enlightening hike. But one instance in particular reminded me of a Sunday School lesson from when I was a teenager. And I think I maybe now am just understanding it more fully.

Backstory time! (insert Dr Doofensmirtz picture here)

So once upon a Sunday, many years ago, we were learning about the creation. About the Garden of Eden. Because we were a pretty unruly class ( we tried, but really looking back.....) at one point the teacher decided to ask a class member who was not listening a question. "What were the two commandments that God gave Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden?" The answer is worthy of the history books. 

"Don't eat the apple and don't tempt the snake." 

I really think that is the only thing I remember from that year. It was a running joke. I still smile at it now and remember the laughter that it could always evoke whenever it was brought up in our group. Flash forward to my hike. On my return I passed a point on the trail where I heard a very clear, very LOUD hiss. I hollered "Oh CRAP! A SNAAAAAAAAAKE!!!!!" And started running like a deranged mountain goat for about the next 100 yards. (this all seems very rambled as I am reading it, but I promise, it makes a good point)

And the saying "Don't tempt the snake" came to mind. And a lesson was learned. Satan has been compared to a snake or a serpent in the scriptures. We always talk about the ways he uses to tempt us, to lead us away from God. But there are ways we can tempt him, allowing ways to let him in. (really, I know it is him doing the tempting, but bear with me) By our choices, we make room for either the Savior or the Devil. If I choose not to read my scriptures in the morning, justifying that I pretty much know what is in them and I don't need them desperately enough or have time, I am "tempting the snake". I am saying "here is a little space that I am leaving open" and he is oh so willing to fill it. On that hike I was alone. Granted, the trail was filled with countless other people. In life, when we choose to be alone, when we choose to close ourselves off and try to "fix" ourselves, without accepting help of others or from God, we are leaving a void to be filled. If I rationalize not praying for a day, brush off a prompting of the Holy Ghost, look for a reason to leave church early, refuse service, and the list could go on and on, but in all these things I am "tempting the snake". I am allowing room for him to fill.

It has been on my mind since then. In what ways am I personally tempting the snake? In what ways do I push God away? Where do I rationalize? Where do I justify? And then the healing portion. How can I invite God more fully into my life? What in my life do I need to accept and acknowledge and turn over to Him, instead of carrying around with me? The story told of the two wolves inside, the wolf that wins is the one you feed. How am I feeding the bad wolf, how can I stop and in what ways can I feed the good wolf?

A slightly deeper thought to a very much laughed at teenage moment, How do you tempt the snake and how can you more fully rely on the Lord to fill all empty voids so that there is no room for which the snake to enter?

Tomorrow Comes

Today I should be holding a newborn, breathing in her new scent, gushing over her flawless features.
Today I should be rocking three girls to sleep.
Today I should be watching my older two children fawn over their baby sister.

But I'm not.

Today sucked.

Something I have learned over the past few months (really, over the course of my life but that has been solidified over the past few months) is this: Tomorrow comes. The intensity of the moment can tend to drown out that promise. Many times I have felt unsure of how to go on. The day we were told Gracie wouldn't live, tomorrow came. The day I watched her heart struggle to beat, tomorrow came. The day she was finally at peace, the day she was born, the day we buried her, each tomorrow came. Sometimes I didn't want them to. I resented the fact that I had to continue on without my baby. Someday's I still do. Today was one of those days.

Today I planned to take the whole day to myself. To sit and grieve. To give space for my feelings and let them come and go. An important email this morning prevented me from doing so. It meant that I had to pull out a bunch of paperwork, keep Ty up to help me, make phone calls and spend the morning running errands. I thought I would at least get a few hours to sit with Gracie. I got 10 minutes. Orange chicken and fried rice? The place is closed down. A minute to myself? Not a chance. (The girls are in fact still awake at 10 and hollering from their room and I am hurriedly typing so I can go in and try to get them to sleep.) Today was not what I wanted, but tomorrow will come. It wont make today better, but it will not be the end of the world.

So many times it feels like that. Moments, days and even multiple days in a row that feel like the end of the world. That feel like nothing will ever get better. That no matter what I do, I'll never be whole again, never be happy. Tomorrow will come. Insensitive comments, thoughtless conversations, a reminder call from the doctors office that I should schedule my follow up appointment now that I have a new baby. Tomorrow will come.

In the darkness, each breath keeps coming. Each minute continues. Though sometimes I wish I could just be swallowed whole, though sometimes the pain is so intense and so overwhelming- Tomorrow comes.